


You Can't Steal What's Yours

by dexwebster



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Bondage, Dirty Talk, Dom/sub, Dragon Age Kink Meme, F/M, Femdom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 21:40:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,736
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3785215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dexwebster/pseuds/dexwebster
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alistair doesn't get how this "giving up control" thing works if she'll stop whenever he says. Sereda shows him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can't Steal What's Yours

**Author's Note:**

> For the kinkmeme prompt: "sub!Alistair in bondage."

"I still don't see the point if you're just going to stop if I say so," Alistair said.

"I won't let you go if you say so," Sereda said. "That's what that's for." She nodded to the chain in the hand she was binding with a wide cuff of loops at his wrist. The rope was much softer and lighter than Alistair expected, not the rough, weathered stuff they carried for tent fixings and the like. He couldn't fathom where she'd gotten a hold of it, but he had the mortifying suspicion Zevran had a hand in its acquisition.

Alistair looked up at her as she scrambled over him to do the other; she was too small to reach both arms at once. "It's all the same, isn't it?" he said. By which he meant a copout. He was meant to drop the chain if he wanted her to stop and untie him. This way, she said, it didn't matter if he couldn't bring himself to say it, or if his mouth was otherwise occupied. But wasn't the whole idea that he trusted her so much he would give her absolute control over him?

"Is it?" she said. "Go ahead and try if you don't believe me."

"Fine," Alistair said. "Let me go."

"No."

"Please?"

"No," she said, and crawled down between his feet.

It had started a few weeks before, when they'd been playing around in the tent they shared and she'd pinned him on his back playfully—and only playfully. Short of them falling to real violence he could always overpower her if he wanted to, something he knew rankled her. She'd made the offhand grumpy comment that she'd have to tie one hand behind his back to have any chance, and with no idea what sort of kindling he was laying a flame to, Alistair had told her she could do whatever she liked.

Like just about every soldier he'd known outside the Chantry (and even some in it) Sereda had an absolutely filthy mouth when she wanted to. She'd certainly put it to good use that night, until he swore the heat she'd brought to his face would do more to warm them than the fire. In the end they agreed such things were better left to the comfort and relative safety of an inn, so here they were, and he was glad for it now. Most of the brief time they'd had together had been in dim tents on cold ground, with their boots close and their swords closer. Not in a toasty room on a soft bed with Sereda climbing all over him in her underthings, looking coyly over her shoulder at him and saying—something.

"Oh. Sorry?" Alistair said, dragging his attention back to her and not her bloody _presenting_ her backside.

"Bend your knees," she said deliberately, obviously repeating herself, though she seemed more amused than annoyed.

Alistair did as she bid, planting his feet flat on the bed.

"Don't look now," he said as Sereda crawled up to face him, "but there's a hurlock behind you."

"Not funny." Her glare pinned him just as well as her ropes, enough that Alistair was almost ashamed of himself.

"Don't look now but Zevran's at the door?"

"That would bother you more than it would bother me."

"What if I have to, you know," Alistair said. "Go?"

"You know how to stop. Or the chamber pot's right there," she added with a shrug. "Do you really want to find out?"

Alistair said quickly, "I'm good, thanks." Everything she was hinting at was. . .strange, humiliating even, but not enough to make him drop the chain, not even close, and that itself was giving him a peculiar tingly feeling on the back of his neck. 

And then Sereda sat sideways on his chest. She was thickly built, as all dwarves were, but at her height he still held her weight easily. The soft curve under her navel was only inches away, and gave an enticing little quiver as she wiggled out of her underpants, the sort begging for a nibble of teeth.

The rope squeaked against the headboard as Alistair's hands twisted in the ropes. They felt tighter all of a sudden, though he knew she would've used better knots than that. He licked his lips. 

"Sereda, I think I might die if you don't let me go."

Sereda patted his cheek. "It was lovely knowing you, sweetheart. I'll remember you fondly."

" _Pretty_ please?"

"Not a chance."

"What _are_ you doing?" He cocked his head watching her scoot backwards down his torso and lean against his thighs. With his legs bent she was hardly going the route she normally did in that vicinity. 

"Using you as I see fit. Is that a problem?" 

"I—have no idea how to answer that." All thought had abandoned him. She could recline fully like that, her legs spread and pressed along Alistair's ribcage so her feet were propped against the undersides of his arms. It was no longer her backside presented.

"Then it's a good thing your answer doesn't matter, isn't it?" she said, rich with haughty authority. She'd been raised a princess on top of a warrior, but it seldom showed so clearly, and right then it was doing something to his insides that Alistair didn't understand, a quivery, tight feeling in his stomach, like there was a knot tied there too. He'd never been so jealous of a hand in all his life, watching hers slide down amid the thatch of auburn hair to the little pink pearl it hid. 

She was gentle at first, almost toying, and thank the Maker for roaring fires and warmly lit inns. Alistair could see every slip-slide of the two fingers she was rubbing herself with, the gleaming wetness, the flush rising in her cheeks and spreading down her throat. 

It was too much to hope his own arousal would go unnoticed with her laying on him. It was only a matter of hoping she wouldn't be unhappy somehow. She couldn't be, could she? Not when was she was practically sitting on the potential offender and looking like that. 

The inevitable teasing only seemed to provoke him more, a terrible infinite circle of flesh stirring embarrassment that made his face hot and got him tingly in more places than his neck. What a wonder was the human body, that he had enough blood to blush that hard and _be_ that hard at the same time. 

She finally broke the silence with a delighted little laugh and wriggled against him. "Since you don't have any pockets right now I won't bother to ask." 

"It's not my fault!" Alistair said quickly. "It's not exactly voluntary, and I patently refuse to be ashamed of it. That is an entirely legitimate erection. If anything you should take it as a compliment." Sereda made no answer but heavy breathing. "Are you even listening to me? You're not even listening." He was strangely hopeful. No one needed to hear that much rambling.

Sereda smiled, sweet and satisfied. "I don't listen to the rest of the furniture either."

Alistair swallowed hard. This was what she'd reduced him to, tamping down the urge to thank someone for calling him _furniture_. Calling attention to it would defeat the purpose, that he could be mortified in peace, summarily dismissed. He rolled around the chain folded in his palm, taking comfort in the weight of it. As long as it stayed there his humiliation was as inconsequential as anything else he wanted.

"I wonder if I could just. . .launch you at me with my knees." 

"Why do you think your ankles are tied?" 

She'd started playing with her breast with her free hand, pinching _hard_ from what he knew. He'd been shocked those first times by how rough a touch she preferred, and the closer she was the harsher she wanted it. Nothing went by halves with her. 

"I could be doing that for you," he pleaded.

"I like what you're doing for me now. Mmm, Alistair, I love how big you are," she said, parody and genuine at the same time. The difference in their size had caused problems before—she'd been self-conscious, _he'd_ been self-conscious, kissing could get strange. Like this their bodies fit together perfectly, a princess on her throne.

"I love you," said Alistair. It seemed like the only thing that mattered. 

Sereda smiled, so warm and gentle. For a moment that casually possessive air receded like the tide to roll out another day, and wasn't it just like her to be a force of nature. "I know," she said. "I love you, too."

"This is _terrible_." 

"I know, sweetheart."

"Sereda, I'm begging you."

The gentleness crinkled away merrily at the corners of her eyes. "That's fine, I don't mind." 

She scrunched down a little, tilting her hips a bit, and with the change in angle she teased her finger down, arching as it disappeared inside of her. It only pushed her harder against him, and Alistair arched with her. 

She eased in a second alongside, the sound of it vital and wet, his beauty in the darkness that was the life's blood and decay they faced so often. Had she been that in Orzammar too, a jewel gleaming in those dim caves? Did they even realize what they'd sent away? 

Her fingers plunged in and out of view in a slow, easy rhythm he felt full-body, watching her as that same pleasure pressed all along him, from the weight of her back against his own arousal to the quaking in her legs against his ribs.

She blinked slowly, heavily, like she had to force her eyes open again. "Is this really all it takes to make you speechless?"

" _All it takes?_ Is a beautiful woman sitting on me and pleasuring herself without letting me touch her _all it takes_? There are countries where this would be outlawed for cruelty to prisoners of war!" He could only hold on to so much indignation, and his shoulders fell as much as the rope allowed. "Can I at least have a kiss?"

Sereda grinned and extended one leg, stretching to point her toes past his ear, so with no effort Alistair could kiss her ankle. 

"Not what I meant." He still did it, obviously. Then he hesitated. "Can I—can I kiss you where your fingers are?"

"More specific, sweetheart, I have two hands." 

Alistair laughed, hopefully not too hysterical. "Right now I'd take what I could get. Can I. I want to kiss your—" Sereda only bit her lip and pulled her fingers out to rub at the exact spot. Alistair moaned pitifully. "Yes, there." She couldn't get there without it, his ego had learned that the hard way. He should be helping at least, he could be inside of her while she was doing it.

"Go on."

There was no way for him to get to her and likewise no way to escape her scrutiny. It was still terrible, but it was like a wall in him was falling. He didn't want her any less, he wasn't any less desperate, but somehow he could let go of it a little. It wouldn't change anything unless she allowed it.

"I want to kiss your clit," he said quietly. He held the chain tight in his palm and wrapped his empty hand around the rope leading over his palm, pulled at his wrists just for the feeling of being held. They weren't a leash anymore, they were a caress from Sereda even though she was barely touching him and had closed her eyes. And it wasn't just a wall falling, it was a dam, everything he'd been unable to say pouring out from behind it. How silly he'd been, offering her absolute control and then trying to hide from it. 

"I want to kiss you everywhere," he said. The weight of her round little ass ground against his cock as her hips moved hungrily under her hand. "I want to put my tongue as deep inside your quim as it'll go, like your fingers were." 

He was breathing as heavily as she was, blood rushing in his ears. Any embarrassment was long gone: everything behind that wall was hers, and he would let her take whatever she wanted from it, take whatever part in her pleasure he was allowed, even if it was only his voice. "You have no idea how gorgeous you are right now. I want to make you come—Maker, as many times as you'll let me. Can I please— _please_ , Sereda—put my mouth on your cunt?" 

Sereda nuzzled against his thigh and panted open-mouthed, wispy little breaths too quiet to be real moaning. Her cold toes pushed harder into his arms as she braced herself. 

"I want to taste you. So much. I love the way you taste, I don't know if I've ever told you. I'll do it however you like. You wouldn't even have to let me go, just come closer, that's all I need. Use me however you like, just let me—" 

She whimpered his name then as she finally peaked and Alistair lunged off the pillow so hard he might have dislocated something straining for her, but she was _whimpering his name_ , what else was he supposed to do. 

It rippled through her like waves through water, high whimpers cascading to quiet moans and falling further, lower, groans that rolled up from the very middle of her, until she finally stilled and slumped into the bracket of Alistair's legs. The rosy crinkled peaks of her nipples taunted him, the only part of her that hadn't fallen to dead weight atop him. Sweaty, blotchy, beautiful dead weight. With nothing else to distract him the aching insistence of his cock was consuming, maddening. 

The corner of Sereda's smile tugged into view as she rolled her head lazily to look at him. "A carpenter would be ashamed of a chair that wiggled so much." 

"That's why they're made of wood and not _people_."

"But mine's prettier," she said as she hauled herself upright and tipped forward. Her wetness smeared on his stomach, taking his attention for herself again and stealing what little satisfaction he'd got from her leaned against him. "You can put your legs down now." She brought her hand up, her fingers glistening just inches away. "Open up?" Alistair instinctively went to mouth at them but Sereda snapped, "Do _not_ ," and curled her fingers away in an instant. "Open," she said gently.

He opened his mouth and held it, trembling, as Sereda rubbed her slick fingers along his lower lip. She looked bright and focused for how hard she'd just come, like she did sizing up opponents.

"So do you still feel like you have all that control, knowing you could stop whenever you want?"

Alistair shook his head a fraction, no more than a shudder. His fists ached they were clenched so tight. 

"Now imagine," she said, fingertips just curling over his lip, "how much harder it would be if you had to hold yourself still that whole time."

It would've been hell. _This_ was hell. He was taking in air in fast little puffs, concentrating so hard on keeping his tongue on the bottom of his mouth, and he could _smell her_. Trying to swallow was an awkward, tacky feeling with his mouth hanging open. 

"Go on," she said finally. 

He closed his mouth around her fingers in relief. The tension of having to hold himself was gone. Free from the chore of obedience he could swallow again, he could _breathe_ again. He sucked the pungent taste of her from her fingers and licked it from his own lips, moaned at the warm callused rasp as she dragged them back out and then in again, gliding in and out of his mouth like she had her own body.

His feet scrabbled desperately on the bed but with his legs straight the ties on his ankles were too loose to offer any comfort. The jeering of a dozen faceless Templar recruits echoed in his head—what sort of man took that much pleasure in getting fucked—but there was no real shame left in Alistair for that now, only the same flimsy embarrassment he had at getting hard from being her personal chaise lounge. Just as it had then it only made him more eager, brazen in opening for her.

"Please let me go?" he murmured against her fingertips the next time they were withdrawn.

It always amazed him how someone who'd barely seen the sun before he met her could smile so much like sunshine. She leaned in so close he could feel her breasts on his chest, so close he could've kissed her if he hadn't already learned his lesson. "You just want to hear me say it again, don't you?" She brushed her nose back and forth against his, as sweet as could be, but her voice was solid as the Stone she came from. "I'm going to keep you where I want, for as long as I want, and there is absolutely nothing you can say that will make me let you go."

"That," he sighed, "is possibly the most romantic thing I have ever heard."

"I can do you one better." She leaned forward and pressed her lips to his ear. "Would you like me to tie you down tighter?" 

Alistair nodded shakily, cheek to cheek.

Sereda kissed him and crawled down between his legs with an easy swing in her hips, like her joints had been oiled, paying no attention at all to his cock curving hard along his belly on her way. His protest sat in a lump in the back of his throat. It was out of his hands the same as everything else, subject only to some whim or reason in her head he wasn't privy to.

His foot dragged across the bed as she pulled more and more slack out, and he watched as the rope tightened enough to feel the stretch in his thigh and leave his foot dangling off the side of the mattress. He felt, distantly, Sereda dragging off the other, but he was rapt. He could flex his foot, tighten his calf. The muscles bunched with effort and his leg stubbornly did not move; it was no longer his to command. 

The second was spread to its limits too, and what had been a mild stretch in one leg was almost overwhelming, as though he'd split apart. "That's. . .really tight," Alistair breathed.

Sereda sat in the wide triangle between his legs and rubbed her hands over his inner thighs until the threat of panic became only more: the tension in his legs tugged at his groin, the dizziness and racing heart were no different than the arousal. He watched her hand sweep closer to his cock, fingers scratching through the sparse hair. 

Her touch, when it came, was light as a feather, a single finger teasing around the head. Alistair sucked in a sharp breath. 

"It would be nice to see you come but I don't know if I want to bother."

"Wouldn't bother me at all," he promised breathlessly. 

"I bet."

The rope was so taut he didn't need to pull to get that tethered feeling anymore, just let it hold him while her finger descended into the full grip of her hand wrapped around him, though still with the same glancing pressure. Even that was no comfort when she started scratching the blunt nails of her unoccupied hand over his balls.

"Sereda, please," he said, choked. Her touch was so light and somehow it only made the heavy tightness worse; the gentleness of it only made it more cruel. 

"I bet," she said in a very different tone, "that you would go to sleep just like this if I wanted."

"You know I would." Romance should have been flowers and candles and lots of other things he always wanted to give her and didn't have time for in the middle of a Blight, but it was this too—what more could he give her than his own pleasure? He'd already said so much, what was a little more? "I don't want to, but I would. And you— _ah!_ —you would probably pet my hair or kiss my forehead or something else terribly sweet while I lay there in misery, and that would make it worse, because I wouldn't regret a single second of it." 

"Poor Alistair," she said, dripping with exaggerated sympathy. 

"I would be!" And somehow, impossibly, Alistair was laughing, giddy through the haze. "If you are going to. . .do that could you not untie me though? Or do it differently? It'll be a lot easier. That whole doing the work for me thing. You know how lazy I—oh, sweet Maker." Sereda had kept her hand on his cock but allowed a brief reprieve from the delicate torture of her fingernails so she could lay down on her stomach. She kicked her feet up behind her with her ankles crossed, like she was about to enjoy a delicious treat. "That is unfairly cute," he moaned.

He couldn't even look anymore, he had to turn away, so Sereda's mouth sinking down onto his cock was still a shock if not exactly a surprise. In a blazing instant everything else was lost to that wet heat, the hard, fast plunge of her mouth engulfing him with—oh, she was wicked—with the same rhythm of Alistair's desperate rutting when he was buried inside of her and so close he could taste it, pulling him towards that peak faster than he'd imagined possible. 

He moaned, thrusting up against her, and Sereda only dug her elbows in his thighs and shoved her empty palm into the crest of his hip, splayed across him to pin down what the ropes didn't. 

It was a mage's burst of flame instead of an open fire, the same burn packed into a bolt that was too intense, too fleeting to enjoy, and all of it shot through with the terror that she might stop at any moment. He strained helplessly against Sereda's grip, bondage and body alike, right up until he heard himself babbling to warn her and Sereda barreled on. And that was the death of him, that _it didn't matter whether he wanted to_. His climax wasn't his to have, it was hers to take, and Alistair gave it up with a string of barely-formed words that still held enough blasphemy to make a Sister blush.

She pulled off abruptly, no need for finesse when she'd got what she wanted, although she did stroke gently over his hips, soothing instead of teasing. 

When he opened his eyes (he'd closed them?) she was sitting up on her heels and smiling. It was nice, how much she'd been doing that. So was looking up at her. He didn't do that often. Her eyes were sparkling. 

"Thank you," he said, but that was wrong, vague, and he frowned so hard he could feel the weight of it hanging on his face. 

All he had to do was open his hand. All he'd endured and this was the real temptation to cry mercy, wanting to wrap her up in his arms and tell her that way instead of trying to pull the words through custard to get them out. All those words earlier and none of them were left. "I mean, for letting me be of use," he said, and suddenly Sereda looked—well, like Alistair supposed he did a lot, dumbstruck, mouth parted in a perfect pink _oh_. 

She crawled right up and kissed him, none of her earlier distance or restraint, once, twice, again, just enough for him to expect another when she drew the back of her hand down his cheek instead. "You are _such_ a fucking sweetheart." 

She buried her face in the crook of his neck and he tucked her under his cheek as best he could and soaked her in. The comfort the rope offered paled in comparison to having her pressed against him, like he was a bow strung too tight. She didn't even touch the bed like this. His hands twisted and tightened in empty fists that let the rope bite softly at his skin; that much hadn't changed.

"You're getting twitchy," she said eventually, almost a whisper against his throat. 

"It feels good, I just want. I want to touch you, but you're laying on me, so obviously I am. It's very confusing." 

"It's all right. I need to stoke the fire, I'll just be a minute." 

The brutal chill when she stood was immediate. Alistair shivered, and wished he hadn't when she made a bit of a fuss throwing a blanket over him. It took just as long as tending the flame would and must have looked ridiculous with his bound ankles peeking out at the footboard. 

Even the blanket and the spike of warmth that swept the room couldn't save him from the gooseflesh pebbling all along his skin. Nothing could compare to her heat atop him. At least he got to watch her this way. He loved the curve of her hips and the roundness of her ribs, those tiny bare feet. He eyed even the pert swell of her breasts as she bent to fetch two more quilts from the chest at the foot of the bed with a fuzzy, floaty sort of affection more than anything lustful.

She tugged the quilts down over his feet after she untied his ankles, and he was so absorbed in admiring her that he failed to recognize her _untying him_ until she went for the chain in his hand. He gripped it tighter. "What, why?" 

"Trust me, all right?" She carefully pried his fingers from around it to set it on the side table. The ropes on his wrists were released from the bed with two quick tugs. The sudden weight of his arms resting under their own power made him a little queasy, like looking over the edge of the cliff except he could float away instead of fall. 

But instead of unbinding his wrists Sereda gathered the tails in one hand, coiling them around her fist to guide him onto his side. She scooted in beside him, staggered so his head was at a level with her chest, and tucked the heavy quilts in around them. "How's that?" she asked.

Alistair nearly folded in half around her, which said everything he had to say about that. The pillow was soft and his bound wrists were drawn together between them under the covers and he could stroke his fingers along her soft thigh, and that was all he needed. 

He couldn't have said how long he laid there. He halfheartedly resisted when she reached for his wrists. The ropes went from comfortably to forcefully taut in Sereda's hand. "Alistair, you're falling asleep. They need to come off." 

"Sleeping is good," Alistair insisted. He watched as the ropes fell away under her hands. "But it felt good," he said helplessly. His wrists were cold. At least the marks were pretty. He stared at the deep red impressions left in the ropes' wake, bereft. Was it better to hope they faded quickly and avoid the jokes at camp, or hold onto them as long as possible? 

Sereda pulled his arm around her waist—he supposed getting to hold her was the one advantage of being unbound. "Hey. Grumpy face." Alistair grudgingly refused to look up. Her small hand stroked his hair. "It can feel good another time, and nothing else changed. You could've stopped then just like you can now, remember? Taking them off can't steal what putting them on didn't give me. You were already mine."

That was the knot tugging in his stomach, the countless strands of every thing he would give her, and it was there whether the rope was or not. "I take it back. That's much more romantic." 

"You know that just means I don't need to tie you down if I ever decide I don't want you to come." 

Alistair burrowed in tighter, nodding through a shiver of a different sort. Sereda chuckled and kissed his hair. 

Some things didn't need to be said.


End file.
